


Dibs

by ImagineMystrade



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Imagine your OTP, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineMystrade/pseuds/ImagineMystrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg's not the only Lestrade who has noticed Mycroft's attributes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dibs

**Author's Note:**

> Based very, very loosely on this prompt: Imagine your OTP attempted to be sabotaged and broken up by a jealous person who loves Person B. Throughout the day, this jealous person constantly tries to make Person A do stupid things and generically mess up to have Person B get tired of them and hopefully break up. However, the attempts all seem to fail and end up bringing the pair closer than before.
> 
> And by loosely, I mean that it's not really at all like the prompt but I couldn't find one that dealt with specifically jealousy.

“Who’s the suit?”

Greg Lestrade looked over at his younger brother, eyebrows raised. "Sorry?"

Geoff Lestrade was the furthest thing from subtle, with his leather jacket and slicked-back hair, the deep tan that even transplants to California seemed to adopt effortlessly and the insinuating smile. He was also the furthest thing from conventional, being a stunt actor who loved fast cars, skydiving and motorcycles.

On the other hand, Mycroft Holmes, to whom Geoff was apparently referring, was the textbook definition of subtle and conventional. Well, maybe not so much conventional, but …

“Greg?”

“What?” Lestrade shook his head quickly. “What’d you say?”

“Where’d you go?” asked his brother with a grin. “Suddenly you were a million miles away.”

“Nothing, just … long night.” Greg tried to smile. “Now, what’d you say?”

“The suit.” Geoff nodded toward the plate-glass window that separated Lestrade’s office from the rest of his division. “The tall bloke in the pinstripes. Who  _is_ he?”

Just in front of Sally Donovan’s cubicle stood the two Holmes brothers engaged in one of their quietly intense arguments. Sherlock looked as if he were going to snap at any moment and Mycroft stood with a slight smile, casually swinging his umbrella. Neither of them was talking in a voice above a murmur, but the tension was palpable.

Lestrade sighed. “That’s Mycroft Holmes. Another one of Her Majesty’s faithful servants, but with the sort of pay packet I'll never see in several lifetimes. The bloke that’s trying not to throttle him is Sherlock Holmes. I’ve told you about him. He’s –”

“Yeah, yeah, the consulting detective or whatever. I keep up with London news on the set,” said Geoff sounding bored. “Where’s the hat? I always see him with the hat.”

“I don’t think Sherlock fancies the hat very much.” Greg grinned at his brother. “So anyway, glad your flight was good. I'd go spare, that long on a plane. Are you hungry? How about a good curry? That shite they serve in the States can’t compare.”

“Eh, not really all that hungry.” Geoff was still staring at the two men. “You say they’re both named Holmes? So they’re related?”

“Brothers. Can’t you tell? Mycroft’s the older one. They’re having a good row right now. They should make it a sport and play it on telly. It's that entertaining.” Greg glanced at his watch. “C’mon, you’ve just gotten into town and I can’t go for pints until I’m off duty. If you're not hungry, at least let me stand you to a coffee that’s better than the crap they have in the canteen here.”

“Brothers?” Geoff was still staring. “They don’t look a thing alike. I mean, the suit is dishy as hell, and the other one … well, nice cheekbones, I guess.”

Greg gawked at his brother. “Um. Dishy?”

“Hell yes.” Geoff grinned. “Reckon he’d go for me? If I chatted him up, that is?”

“Geoff, I don’t really know Mycroft that well,” said Lestrade, his heart starting to pound fitfully. “I mean, I don’t even know if he’s …”

“Oh, c’mon Greg! You’re a copper! If you can’t tell that the bloke’s swish as a nine-bob note, then I wonder how the hell you made detective.”

Greg looked out of his office at Mycroft Holmes. His suit was nice, as usual, his watch fob shining and neat, as usual, his hair was in perfect form, as usual, his umbrella at his side, as usual.

“Fine. So maybe he likes blokes. So?”

“So,  _he_ likes blokes.  _I_ like blokes.” Geoff was grinning. “Think he’d go to dinner with me if I asked?”

Greg looked at his brother and resisted the urge to peek again at the smartly dressed man just on the other side of the glass.

"I thought  _we_ were having dinner tonight, Geoff," said Greg in as light a voice as he could manage. "You're in town for just a week. I haven't seen you since Gran's funeral. We have three years of catching up to do."

Geoff shrugged. "I reckon, but it's not like we  _haven't_ talked. I mean, Skyping counts, big bro. We do that every week. And not to put too fine point on it, but I haven't had a decent shag in  _ages -"_

_"Bloody hell Geoffrey!"_

The younger Lestrade rolled his eyes. "C'mon. I thought you of all people would understand. You and Tab stopped shagging yonks before you two divorced, yeah? How long's it been for you, anyway?"

Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was  _not_ going to have a discussion about his admittedly nonexistent sex life with his little brother, and  _especially_ not in his bloody office, and  _especially especially_ not with the two most observant men in the history of everything just a few meters away.

The knock on his door startled Lestrade and he noticed Geoff eyeing him in concern for about half a second. Then his little brother's attention was snatched away. Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes were entering the office.

"I think we've gotten everything sorted," said Mycroft in an overly bright voice. "I've managed to persuade my brother to my view of things and he has agreed to stand down on this particular case."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he muttered something rude beneath his breath having to do with extra CCTV cameras being added to Baker Street if he didn't back off.

Greg wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or annoyed. The case in question concerned a bloke systematically picking off some of the more flamboyant meth dealers in Greater London. Through various clues, it was almost certain the man had been on the drug himself once upon a time and may or may not now be clean.

On the one hand, Lestrade, not to say the Drugs Squad, could have really used Sherlock's brain to help crack the case. The men being murdered were scum, but the last thing the city needed was a junkie vigilante armed to the teeth on his own personal crusade.

But on the other hand, given Sherlock's history, he could see why Mycroft would want Sherlock to steer clear of this sort of case. It might take the younger man to certain places that he'd visited in the past and Lestrade knew he didn't want to tempt fate any more than Mycroft did.

"Well, all right," said Greg shrugging. "Dimmock'll be a bit disappointed. He was looking forward to working with you again, Sherlock."

The younger Holmes rolled his eyes and was about to respond with something acerbic and quite possibly obscene, when Geoff's voice cut through the quiet of the room.

"Prince of Wales, innit?"

Three pairs of eyes turned to the younger Lestrade. Greg's own eyes narrowed dangerously when he saw the soppy look on his brother's face, not to mention the fact that he seemed to be addressing Mycroft as if he and Sherlock were just wisps of smoke.

The tall man noticed, too, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Pardon?"

"Your brolly," said Geoff, gesturing toward Mycroft. "Malacca Prince of Wales. I love a good Brigg brolly. They have them over in America. All the big directors are dragging them around Santa Monica these days, but most of them are Travellers. I haven't seen a Wales in yonks, forgot how stylish they are."

Mycroft blinked and looked down at his umbrella as if he'd forgotten it was there.

"Ah. Well, yes. Thank you. It was a gift from my assistant. A bit more decorative than is usually my taste for the daytime, but ..."

"It suits you," said Geoff in a slightly smoky voice. "Down to the ground."

Mycroft's other eyebrow jumped up. Sherlock glared down at Geoff and Lestrade's jaw was flapping in the wind.

Mycroft recovered first. "I don't believe we've met." He extended a hand. "Mycroft Holmes."

Geoff stood and took the hand whilst smiling winningly into Mycroft's eyes.

"Hello, Mycroft Holmes, I'm Geoff Lestrade. _That_ one's baby brother." He inclined his head toward Greg without taking his eyes off Mycroft. "I've heard a lot about you."

Mycroft's gaze rested briefly on Greg.

"Oh? I wasn't aware the Detective Inspector was so ... solicitous."

Greg gulped. What?

"Uhm ..."

Geoff shrugged. "He wasn't. All he told me was your name."

"Ah." Mycroft tilted his head. "Then just who  _did_ tell you about me, then?"

"You did." Geoff was grinning. "Or at least, you  _will_ , I hope. Fancy a coffee? There's a nice caf down the block."

The room stood still. For such observant and intelligent men, it seemed to take Sherlock  _and_ Mycroft a moment to figure out what was happening. When it hit them, their reactions were immediate: Disgust and faint horror on Sherlock's face, and an almost incredulous look of disbelief on Mycroft's.

As for Greg, he wished he could do something other than gape. Finally, he found his voice.

"Geoff!" he hissed, feeling half appalled and half dazed. What the fuck was going on? Was his baby brother actually chatting up quite possibly the most powerful man in Britain right in front of him?

And was Mycroft Holmes actually  _blushing_? Oh, bloody hell.

Mycroft for his part cleared his throat and pushed his hand over his hair. Sherlock had clearly had enough judging by the roll of his eyes.

"Dear god. Even _John_ isn't this inept," he grumbled. Glowering at Lestrade, he growled, "When you have a case for me that does  _not_ have to be vetted by  _my handler_ , you know where to find me."

"Really Sherlock," said Mycroft in a dry voice. "Don't fret. I'm sure that within a fortnight, there will be some sort of gruesome slaying or spree killing. There might even be a dismemberment element or Satanic ritual."

"Don't tease," said Sherlock with a frustrated sigh before stalking out in a whirl of expensive wool and jet curls, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Not even Mycroft watched Sherlock leave. He was still looking at Geoff.

"So. How about that coffee?" Geoff was almost batting his eyelashes.

Greg wondered if his undershirt was just getting a bit tight or if there was some other reason his chest felt constricted at the moment.

"I'm not sure ... I follow." Mycroft cleared his throat. "You are ..."

"... Chatting you up." Geoff's smile grew. "Asking you out. Yes."

Greg choked. "Geoff ..."

"... What do you say?" Geoff was giving Mycroft his big-screen smile. It was certain now. Mycroft  _was_ blushing. Greg was aware that his face was red, too, but for a very different reason.

Mycroft looked over at Lestrade. "I don't wish to intrude. You and the Detective Inspector were on your way out, I think?"

Greg took a breath. It proved to be a bit difficult, and it came off more like a wheeze.

"Well, we were -"

"Oh, Greg's up to his balls in paperwork. Can't get away until after his shift," said Geoff, with a sigh and a shrug. "He was just telling me. And I'm bloody starving! Eleven hours on a plane and not a bloody thing to eat."

"What?" Greg was half out of his chair. This was just too bloody ridiculous now.

"Wait a minute! You said you weren't hun-"

Geoff moved himself in front of Greg and markedly closer to Mycroft. "What do you say? I hate to eat alone."

Greg could only stare as Mycroft actually loosened his collar. It was a graceful almost unseen movement, but Greg caught it and his jaw dropped again, along with his stomach. Geoff and Mycroft were all but gazing at each other, and he almost felt like a third wheel in his own office.

"Well." Mycroft glanced at his watch. "Since Sherlock and I came to an agreement so quickly, I do find myself with more time than I anticipated."

"Brilliant." Geoff tilted his eyebrow at Greg. "I'll see you later on, then? At my hotel?"

Lestrade blinked and shook his head, mildly surprised that it was still attached to his body. He felt completely bizarre and he wasn't sure what exactly to say.

"If you want  _that_ to happen, you're going to have to let me know where you're staying, room number, all those little details." His voice was sharp.

Geoff grinned. "Sorry. Slipped my mind."

"Yeah, well, if you'd let me pick you up from the airport instead of just popping in here ..." 

"Eh, it was worth it to see the look on your face. Besides, you're a bleeding Detective Inspector in the Homicide Division. I know you're up to your neck in ... uh, never mind."

Geoff took a napkin from his pocket and made a few brief scribbles, and handed it to his brother with a wink.

"Have a good afternoon, then. Don't work too hard."

Mycroft turned and gave Greg a rather thin smile. "Good afternoon, Detective Inspector."

Greg worked his jaw for a moment. "... Afternoon."

Greg sank in his chair as his baby brother sauntered out with his hand on Mycroft Holmes's shoulder as it had belonged nowhere else all its life.

When the two men were gone, Greg stared at the door. He was truly at a loss to explain what had happened and why.

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, he sighed softly. Well. Geoff was a daredevil. It was literally in his job description. If he'd had the balls to make a move on Mycroft when  _he_ hadn't been able to get his arse in gear after the divorce, well, that was that. Though Lestrade figured that with Geoff literally on another continent, any romance between his little brother and Mycroft would be very short-lived. 

But then again, Mycroft was a man who literally had a whole fleet of planes at his disposal. If he wanted to keep something going, he could. Very easily. Plus, there was Skype. Greg had overheard a conversation in the breakroom and discovered, quite by accident, what  _other_ uses Skype had that separated lovers took full advantage of ...

Greg grit his teeth and reached into his desk for some paracetamol, which he proceeded to swallow dry.

* * *

 

It was windy when Mycroft and Geoff Lestrade emerged from New Scotland Yard. Mycroft buttoned his coat and turned to the younger man with a smile.

"My car is just there." He nodded toward the black luxury vehicle idling at the curb. "The food and drink at the cafe of which you speak is barely edible. Surely we can find something much more comfortable."

Geoff smiled. "Someplace ... _cozy_ , maybe?"

"Oh yes." Mycroft grinned back. " _Very_ cozy. Shall we?"

He opened the door for Geoff before climbing in next to the man. When they'd settled in, Mycroft turned toward his guest, speaking softly.

"I am impressed by your knowledge of umbrellas," he said lightly. "You're quite right: There is nothing quite like a brolly from Brigg. I think I mentioned that this was a gift from my assistant? Well, it came with certain  _modifications_ not commonly seen in other models, not even the Prince of Wales."

Still smiling, Mycroft twisted the handle and with a soft clink, withdrew the short dagger built into the curved wood. The blade glinted with quiet menace in the soft darkness of the car.

Geoff's expression changed and the runny smile slid off his face. His eyes widened and he shrank away from Mycroft.

"What the ... what the bloody hell are you on about? Are you crazy?"

"It's been remarked," said Mycroft with a shrug. "Now. Shall we talk, Mr. Lestrade? And there is enough of a resemblance between you and the Detective Inspector for me to believe you _are_ his brother, but if there is anything I have learned in my line of work is that given the right incentive,  _anyone_ can present a danger to others ... even the younger brother of one of the Met's finest."

Geoff blinked. He was trying very hard not to look at the knife.

"I don't even understand what you're talking about. I thought we were going to have lunch!"

Mycroft's smile dimmed. "I think not, Mr. Lestrade. You see, I'm well aware that you do not ... fancy me. That little charade in the Detective Inspector's office was interesting, and it was  _almost_ convincing, but you overplayed your hand, I'm afraid."

Geoff shook his head. "I don't get it. If you don't think I fancy you, why'd you come along?"

"To see your endgame, of course. I  _do_ have a break in my schedule, and I'm a curious sort."

Geoff lifted his head and squared his shoulders. Mycroft was impressed. Bravery ran in the Lestrade bloodline, obviously.

"And I  _can't_ just want to chat you up and get to know you?"

Mycroft almost smiled again. "No. You were attempting to make the Detective Inspector jealous.  _That_ was your mistake."

The younger Lestrade squinted at Mycroft, but he didn't say anything. Nodding to himself, Mycroft put the dagger away and gave the handle a half-turn, making it just a handle again.

"I made sure to observe your brother as we exited. That's when I knew." Mycroft crossed one knee over the other. "You were very clearly trying to annoy him by chatting me up, and you were not so subtly trying to arouse his jealousy. But he wasn't angry or seething. He was _confused_. That enabled me to deduce that he was confused because you and he do  _not_ have an adversarial relationship. You've likely never tried to make him jealous in your life. That is why despite your heavyhanded attempts, he was more gobsmacked than angry."

Geoff bit his lip. Mycroft could hear the man swallow. "Go on."

"There isn't much more," said Mycroft. "You mentioned being hungry because you'd not been able to find anything edible during an 11-hour flight. That means you traveled here on a nonstop flight. Moreover, the napkin on which you wrote your hotel information is from an airline that I happen to know only operates only two direct flights per day from the West Coast of the United States. For you to be here now, at this time, you would have had to have taken the one that departs at 1 a.m. A redeye flight." Mycroft's gaze raked over him. "Your shirt tells me you've not even checked into your hotel yet. Sent your luggage on ahead, obviously."

Geoff nodded slowly. "Tipped a cabbie a tenner to just drop 'em in the lobby. Rang the hotel and asked reception to put them in my room for me."

"After a such a lengthy flight, you would undoubtedly be hungry and tired,  but yet you didn't even go to your hotel to freshen up or have a meal. You came straight to New Scotland Yard. You wanted to get to your brother as quickly as possible, mindful that it might be difficult for him to get away easily from his work. Doubtless you've missed him, to go through such trouble, and could not wait to be in his presence. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you esteem and adore your brother. You even wear your hair like his. At least as it _would_ be if the Detective Inspector were as ... liberal with product as you seem to be." Mycroft half-smiled again. "And you expect me to believe that you would antagonize him? Purposely?"

Geoff was squinting again. "I know that the bloke with the cheekbones - your brother - is a consulting detective. Is it a family business then?" 

"Perish the thought." Mycroft laughed softly. "Well? Do you care to explain yourself?"

"You're doing a pretty bang-on job of it," said Geoff with a smirk. "Don't want to ruin the fun."

Mycroft began to idly play with the handle of his umbrella again. Geoff made a choked sound and held up his hands.

"Okay, okay! Bloody hell." He took a breath and looked around, and his face darkened.

"Wait. These bloody doors are locked, aren't they? I wouldn't be able to get out of here even if I wanted to, would I?"

Mycroft just smiled. 

" _You_... are scary as fuck." Geoff's eyes were like an owl's. "What the bloody hell do you _do_ , anyway? For work, I mean."

"I occupy a minor post in the British government."

"Uh huh." Geoff gave Mycroft the same look that usually greeted that statement whenever Mycroft made it to new acquaintances. "I could swear I've heard that before. Out of the mouth of Pierce Brosnan, maybe. Or was it Timothy Dalton?"

"Not quite," said Mycroft pleasantly. "Now. You were saying? About your brother?"

Geoff sighed. "Right. Okay, look. You're right. I do love Greg. I grew up idolizing him. Followed him like a little dog. Wanted to copy every move he made. Even moved to London just because he did. But I knew I couldn't take being a copper, so I did the next best thing - play one in the movies. Or at least do the stunts that make the blokes actually playing the coppers look cool in their fight scenes. They get the shot and then forget I exist until they need me again."

"That's Hollywood for you."

Geoff laughed softly. "You don't know the half of it. Uhh, anyway, I know that the divorce hit Greg hard. Every time we talk on Skype, he bangs on about work, cases, nothing about a personal life. It's not healthy for him. He likes being coupled up. Says it relaxes him. Well, when I got into Scotland Yard and was looking for his office, I spotted Greg and you talking. I'm not your brother, or, uhh, _you_ , but I can read body language pretty well, and I could tell Greg's pretty gone for you."

Geoff gave Mycroft a look. "Did youknow he was bi? I mean, you don't look particularly shocked about any of this."

"I've been acquainted with your brother for some years, and the fact that he was not solely attracted to females was not lost on me," said Mycroft. "As for body language, well ... that can be a bit tricky."

"Not for me." Geoff grinned. " _Your_ body language was pretty interesting, too, you know."

Mycroft coughed. "Do continue."

Geoff shrugged. "I could figure out you both fancied each other. I didn't know you, so I couldn't reckon out why you hadn't made a move. I thought maybe you didn't know Greg played both sides of the fence and were holding back because you didn't want to get a punch in the teeth. So that meant Greg would have to make the move. I thought maybe if I played it up a bit, it might light a fire under his arse."

"Ah. And there you miscalculated," said Mycroft gravely. "As I said, you have not had an adversarial relationship with him. Yours is one of mutual respect." Just the slightest bitter edge crept into his voice. "He didn't see in you a rival for my ... er, affections. He saw in you a man who was flirting with an acquaintance -- one whom he  _might_ have found attractive but certainly won't pursue now because it appears his little brother has called ... dibs."

Geoff's jaw dropped in a fine imitation of his older brother's. "... Fuck."

"Indeed."

The younger Lestrade closed his eyes. "But ... I live in another bleeding country! What, did he think I was going to drag you off to the registry office after we had popovers and mugs of Old Tom?"

"No, but he may believe that we - knowing that our time together could only be short - might _accelerate_ the pace of a ... relationship," said Mycroft. "In other words, your little performance likely has scotched any attraction your brother may have had toward me. He wouldn't, after all, want to go over ground his younger brother may have plowed ... so to speak."

"Er, not to be a twat," said Geoff, "But I'm a bottom. Well, mostly. I know I don't look it, but ..."

Mycroft coughed again. "I _was_ speaking metaphorically."

"Right." Geoff looked morose and he raked his fingers through his hair. "Well,  _fuck._ I buggered that up from tip to toe, didn't I?"

"In a word, yes," said Mycroft. "Your plan might have worked, if your relationship with your brother was more typical of that between siblings - especially brothers, and especially brothers who are not terribly far apart in age. I'm sure it might be, in some ways, but it lacks the deep resentment and envy that would have added the needed verisimilitude to support your actions."

 _"_ You sound like you're speaking from experience. I take it you and _your_ brother really don't get on, then?" Geoff looked over at Mycroft. "If he wanted to get under your skin, flirting with Greg would do it?"

Mycroft almost laughed. "If Sherlock were inclined that way, then yes, that would certainly get my attention, and not in a positive fashion."

"If he were  _inclined_ that way? So he's not ...?"

"Sherlock isn't  _anything_ , one way or the other," returned Mycroft. "Though he's changed a great deal since he's gotten clean, so one can never really tell with him."

"Oh. So  _that's_ why he called you his handler?" asked Geoff. "You keep him in your back pocket? Because he had problems in the past?"

"Not quite so close, but too close for comfort in Sherlock's view."

"You love your brother," said Geoff in a gentle voice.

"Very much. And that is why I can't be very upset with what you did," said  Mycroft. "You were operating out of care and concern for your brother, something I can understand and respect."

"Well, ta, but i'm still fucked." Geoff's voice was grim. "I mean, now I've gone and ruined everything. No offense, but you're not really my type. Not that you're not fit, but I fancy shorter blokes. Stocky. Quiet. A total change from the roided-out hulks crawling all over movie sets these days.

Mycroft made a mental note to somehow contrive to keep this man away from John Watson. Not that he thought the Army doctor would be receptive to Geoff Lestrade's overtures, but Sherlock would almost certainly not be best pleased.

"Wait! I know ... I'll just come clean," said Geoff. "Tell Greg everything. Maybe he'll get a laugh out of it. Then I'll be out of the way, and ..."

"No. That would make matters worse." Mycroft shook his head. "It would embarrass him a great deal and make things very awkward between him and myself, and possibly even between himself and my brother. I can't allow that."

"Then what? Because I made a dumb mistake, you're just going to leave it?" Geoff glared at him. "Come on, there's got to be something we can do ... or say ... _something_!"

Mycroft thought a moment. He slowly removed his mobile and glanced at it.

"Oh look. It seems as if my meeting with the U.N. Secretary General has been moved up to ... right now. How unfortunate, as I have to leave immediately and will not have time to have lunch." Mycroft pulled an overly wrought sad face. "Ah well. I suppose it just wasn't meant to be for us." He sighed dramatically.

"Huh. Nice try, but Greg'll probably figure you and I will get together right after your meeting."

"Highly unlikely, considering the meeting is in the Hague."

Geoff's eyebrows jerked up. " _Minor_ position in the government, you said?"

"Quite." Mycroft glanced back at him. "How long will you be in town?"

"A week."

"Ah. And as the trip to and from the Hague will take _10 days_ ... those committee meetings, you know ..."

Comprehension dawned in Geoff's eyes. "... Then we won't be able to see each other at all while I'm here. Brilliant!"

"No, I'm afraid _that's_ only average," said Mycroft. "The brilliance comes in because in that talk you observed me having with your brother, I was telling him how the meeting had been postponed because the Secretary General had to go in for emergency surgery. It's been on the news. So he will know - though _you_ presumably will not, having been in transit all morning - that I was using the U.N. meeting as an excuse to get out of our _date_  ... as I did not want to embarrass you in front of him by turning you down outright, of course."

"Oh, of _course_." Geoff sniggered darkly. "You're a ruthless bastard - did you know?"

Mycroft lifted a brow. "Ah, now you  _are_ flirting."

The two men smiled at each other. After a moment, Mycroft rapped on the pane of glass separating the passenger area from the driver's side. Almost immediately came the soft click of the door locks being released.

"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Lestrade. I will have to look up some of the movies that have utilized your talents," said Mycroft wryly. "You are a much better actor than the reputation of stuntmen would suggest."

"Thanks. I think." Geoff opened the door and swung his legs out. The wind had picked up and he hunched in his coat as he turned back to Mycroft.

"Give Greg a chance," he said in a low voice. "He's a good bloke and I think you'd be good for each other. And he's not as much of a clot as I am. Responsible and all that. Looks before he leaps. Most of the time"

Mycroft was quiet for a time. "Well, it seems I will have a 10-day period in which I won't see him and may have some quiet moments in which to think of a proper venue for a _true_ date."

The younger Lestrade's face broke into a grin. "Really want to knock his pants off? Find the best pizza shop in town. Even if it's a grotty dive, if the pizza is heavenly, he'll be putty in your hand. Most of the pizza down in Weston is shite and he fancies it above everything else."

Mycroft nodded slowly. "I think I may be able to accommodate him. Thank you for the tip."

"Thank _you_ for the lesson," said Geoff with a smile. "And, uh, have a nice  _trip_. I hear the Hague's gorgeous the time of year."

With another grin, he closed the door firmly and turned away.

Mycroft watched from tinted windows as Geoffrey Lestrade trudged back into the maw of New Scotland Yard. It would be all right. Greg Lestrade might be mildly suspicious, but Mycroft knew he would buy his brother's story not only because it was plausible, but because Lestrade would  _want_ to. He would want to believe that his brother wouldn't betray him - unwittingly, but still - in that way.

And Greg might want to believe that maybe ... just _maybe_ ...

After all, Mycroft was quite fluent in body language himself. He simply felt it prudent, especially considering the man's fairly recent divorce, to let Greg to take his own time making a move. Ah, well. Best laid plans, and all that.

Mycroft chewed his lip as he took out his mobile again and pressed a button.

"... Yes, Anthea? Progress report on Mr. Moon? Oh, is he out of surgery already ... yes then certainly send the flowers. Ah, very good. No, nothing further today, except I do need you to call Tomasso's in Vauxhall and rent the entire restaurant, hmmm, let's say two Saturdays from now. Evening, starting at eight, I would say. For how many? For two ... Yes, you heard me correctly. The _entire_ restaurant ... Excellent. Goodbye."

Mycroft ended the call and settled back into his seat, smiling slightly. Yes. That should do. That should do nicely. For a start.


End file.
